Who We Never Were
by EmilyRose09
Summary: What would have happened if Lucas Scott had never joined the Ravens?
1. Lucas Scott

**Disclaimer: I own absolutely nothing! **

**A/N: This is set when the characters are in their mid-twenties and is completely AU. The only thing that is similar to the show is the very first episode until the Lucas-Nathan basketball game. In this story, Nathan won and Lucas never joined the team. And to avoid confusion I want to explain that this chapter opens from Lucas' point of view and he is not an author in my story because if he hadn't joined the team, then his book obviously would never have been created. However, he is an editor for other authors. Each new chapter will feature a new main character from the show and then I will flip-flop points of view. Reviews are appreciated. **

Chapter 1: Lucas Scott

"I liked it," Lucas Scott said half-heartedly. He set the rough copy down on his desk, sliding his name template out of view.

"Why do I get the feeling that you don't really mean that?" a twenty-something author replied. He leaned back in his chair. An annoyed expression etched on his face.

"It was decent plotting, well-articulated prose, and entertaining characters," Lucas explained, leaning forward.

"_But?_"

"But," Lucas continued, "It lacked substance. As interesting and well-written as everything was, it was very bland. There's no personal connection to be made. There's no relatability."

"Well, of course there's no relatability. It's pure fiction."

"That's your problem," Lucas said, standing up to better make his point. "You don't think there can be a connection between your characters and your readers. You think they just want to escape in your fictional world. I disagree. I think that if properly executed you can reach people on a variety of levels. You just have to want to."

"I'll bear that in mind," the writer said, picking up the copy off the table. "And if you think you know so much about it, why don't you just write your own book?" He walked out of Lucas' office and shut the door roughly behind him.

Lucas sat back down at his desk, contemplating the suggestion. His whole life he'd loved to read. He'd just never considered writing his own story. And in all honesty, he had absolutely no idea what he'd write about.

A knock came at his office door that pulled Luke from his daydreaming. Lindsey Strauss, his co-worker, walked in with a stern expression on her face.

"Lindsey," he acknowledged, smiling. "How goes things?"

Lindsey sighed, pulling her hair back. "Luke, you know I adore you. You've been a shoe-in ever since you came to New York, but I have to tell you that the bosses are worried."

Luke craned his neck to the side to avoid looking at her. "What about?"

"You're just too smart for your own good," she said, sitting down in the chair across from him. "You're opinionated and intuitive. You're a fantastic editor."

"_But?_" Lucas asked, hating the irony of this situation.

"But you can't keep telling the authors that their writing style isn't good enough for you. I know you have a great voice, but your job is to bring their voices to the center, even if that varies from what yours would be."

"I know," Lucas agreed, getting out of his seat and moving toward the other side of his desk. "It's just easy to forget that my vision is slightly different than the writer most times."

"It's a mistake anyone can make," Lindsey said lightly. "I've been known to voice my opinion and have it's less than welcoming reception."

"Do you now?" Lucas said, eliminating the distance between them. "And how's my reception here?" He coyly grazed her arm, smiling into her eyes.

"I'll let you know this weekend." She went up on her tiptoes and kissed his upper lip. She wrapped her arms around him and let his travel down across her shoulders.

"That sounds heavenly." Lucas breathed, breaking their kiss. "But I actually have plans this weekend." His demeanor changed and a frown formed on his face.

"You get a better offer?" Lindsey teased.

"Hardly." Lucas said, pulling away from her. "I'm heading back to Tree Hill tonight. My mom's been bugging me to visit for months now."

"Oh, the mother," Lindsey said ominously. "I'm assuming that you aren't ready to introduce me to her yet?"

Lucas gave her an apologetic look. "You know it's not like that. My mom will love you. I just don't want to go through my whole backstory yet."

"Right. The infamous Lucas Scott backstory. I'm very intrigued," she taunted. "How long will you be gone?"

"A week if all goes according to plan. I already cleared it with the higher-ups. I'm going to go catch up with some old friends, and then later in the week I have my first high school reunion. That's sure to be memorable. Wouldn't want to miss that," Lucas added sarcastically.

"I bet it'll be great," Lindsey offered, kissing his cheek. "And when you're done, you get to come back to me." She smiled widely.

"Reason enough." He kissed her again. "Tree Hill," he whispered to himself. "Here I come."

* * *

"Who's that?" Karen shouted, running out of her house. "I know that couldn't possibly be my baby boy."

Lucas continued to get out of the car, setting his duffle bag on the ground. "Hey, Mom." He held his arms wide open as he waited to embrace her.

She ran right into him and he nearly buckled over from the amount of force behind it.

"I've missed you, too," Luke joked, hoping those weren't actually tears that he could feel soaking into his shirt.

"Eighteen months!" Karen yelled at him, refusing to let go. "It's been a year and a half since you've been home—a year and a half before I've gotten to see my baby boy."

"Mom, please," Lucas begged, smiling. "I call you all the time." He carefully unwound her arms from his body.

"That doesn't count," she insisted. "I need the physical form."

"I'm here now." He picked up the bag again. "And thrilled to see you."

"Right," she said, taking his bag from him. When he tried to pull it back, she held on tightly. "You're our guest, Lucas. I'll take it."

"Are you sure this isn't some ploy to make me come home more often? You think if you're extra nice and hospitable, then I'll come back whenever you want me?"

"A mother can dream," she answered, opening the door to the house.

He walked in after her, enjoying the nostalgia he felt as soon as he was through the door.

"You've cleaned up the place," Lucas observed. "Much more livable than when I was here."

"Just don't look in any closets." Karen threw the bag down, whistling.

Luke barely had any time to process his return when five people came through the entryway to the kitchen. They all shouted, "Surprise!"

Lucas could barely contain his elation at seeing his friends again. He moved forward to greet them all.

"My, man," Skills said first, bumping his knuckles with Lucas'. "How's our favorite New Yorker?"

Lucas laughed. "He's good—not quite as cool as you Tree Hill natives."

"No doubt," Skills said. "But you ain't too bad."

"Appreciate it." Lucas turned to the entourage. "Junk. Fergie. It's great to see you guys again." He pulled them both into a hug simultaneously.

"I hate to tell you this, Luke, especially since this is your first night back and all," Mouth began, standing behind them.

"What's up?" Luke asked, turning his attention to his scrawniest friend.

"Your uncontested winning streak from high school has been challenged," Mouth continued, with his professional sports-announcer look taking over.

Lucas eyed Skills. "Is that so?"

"We'll have to insist on a rematch," Mouth finished, crossing his arms. "Oh, and I've missed you." He hugged Luke enthusiastically.

"Back at you."

Lucas turned to the last person there. He smiled boyishly at him. "Uncle Keith," Luke greeted.

"Lucas Eugene Scott, do you have any idea how much—" Keith paused, eyeing Karen—your _mother _has missed you?"

Lucas moved toward him, grin widening. "I'm guessing it wasn't nearly as much as you." He pulled his uncle in for a hug, slapping his back.

"Oh, you're right about that," Keith conceded, wrapping his arm around Lucas' shoulder. "I don't think being apart that long works for us."

"I'd have to agree."

They both mocked Karen's motherly concern.

"You both suck," Karen proclaimed, picking Lucas' bag back up and bringing it to his old bedroom. "This is yours for the time being. Until I decide just how undeserving you are to be here."

Lucas just shook his head and laughed. "I sure have missed this place."

"And it's missed you," Keith added.

"It brings me back." Lucas ran his hand through his hair, recalling nearly two decades' worth of memories.

"Back to the river court," Skills interjected. "Let's go. The basket won't score on itself."

Lucas rolled his eyes, turning to Keith. He nodded in permission.

"Go on ahead. I'll make sure your mother survives another couple of hours without you."

"I heard that," Karen called from the other room.

Lucas and Keith both laughed, enjoying how much it already felt like old times.

"You heard the man," Skills started. "Let's head." He started towards the door, with Fergie, Junk, and Mouth in tow.

"Dibs on Lucas' team," Junk called as he followed.

"I get him next time," Fergie demanded.

"I guess you're going to 'head'." Keith smiled, watching their retreat. "We won't wait up."

"Thanks, Keith." Lucas pulled him in for one more hug and followed his friends out the door.

* * *

"Ladies and Gentlemen, welcome to another night of historic basketball in Tree Hill. Here we have river court legend, Lucas Scott. It's been over a year since Scott ran a full-court game here," Mouth announced in his typical fashion from his spot on the bench. "Will he continue his unrivaled scoring title? Or have we seen the last of his hometown glory?"

Lucas stepped back, aiming carefully. He released the ball and watched as it effortlessly went into the basket.

"Oh, man," Mouth howled. "He's back and better than ever."

"Shut up," Skills told Mouth, rebounding the ball. "Let's do this."

He went to the mid court line and checked the ball to Lucas before bouncing it over to Fergie.

Very quickly the game fell into its old patterns: Lucas on the offensive; Skills always on the defense. The games were friendly but competitive. Fergie and Junk aided in any way they could as Skills and Lucas continued their game with perfect skill until the winning shot was sunk by Lucas.

"Woo-ey," Mouth preached loudly when it was over. "And the Scott-Moretti team takes it."

"Damn it." Skills chucked the ball to the side. "Next time it's you and me," he said, pointing to Lucas.

"Whatever you say." Lucas bowed ungraciously in good humor.

"But that means..." Junk voiced the opening of his concerns out loud.

"That you two will fall on your scrawny asses from a lack of talent," Skills finished for him.

Fergie and Junk exchanged nervous glances. The rest of the boys just laughed.

"What do you say, Luke?" Skills asked a few minutes later after they'd taken their water break. "Rematch?"

"Actually, I think I'm going to call it a night, boys," Lucas said, yawning.

"Like hell you are," a high-pitched voice cut in.

Luke turned sharply, with the other boys following suit. One of Lucas' favorite people in the entire world stared back at them from the other side of the court, visibly angry. She had beautiful light brown hair and a hopelessly friendly face even when she was pissed-off like she was now.

"Haley James," Luke called to her. He soaked in all of her, feeling completely awake now.

"Lucas Scott," Haley shrieked back, throwing herself at him in a hug. "You don't come back to town after this many years without telling your best friend!"

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry." He tried to temperate her anger. "You knew I was coming back for the reunion."

Haley scoffed. "Really? Well, then why did I have to learn from your mother today that you were on your way back? Huh? Your _mother,_Luke. As much as I love Karen, which is a lot, I should've learned it from you." She narrowed her eyes at him.

"If I said I'm sorry a hundred more times would you forgive me?" Lucas asked, working to console her.

"No," Haley answered immediately, but softened right after. "See what happens when I'm not in the know. I go crazy and take it out on you." She pouted sadly. "I've missed you, Lucas Scott."

"I've missed you too, Haley James." Lucas brought her in for another hug. "Too much."

"Dog?" Skills interrupted, coming up next to them. "We're going to take off. Enjoy your catching up." He scrutinized Haley. "We're rematching tomorrow though." He held out his hand to shake goodbye.

"Yeah, alright." Luke grasped his hand and watched as Skills walked off the court.

"Night, Luke," Fergie called as he walked by, following Skills.

"Are you sure you won't be on my team again tomorrow?" Junk asked as he came next to Luke.

"Junk, shut up," Skills called from where he stood next to their car.

"Fine, night."

"Night, Luke," Mouth said finally, bring up the rear of the group. "We'll see you tomorrow." He turned to Haley. "Night, Haley."

"Night, Mouth," she said happily, sounding much more like herself.

"Now what do you say we break into Karen's cafe for old times' sake?" Haley suggested as soon as the guys drove away.

"I can think of no better way to celebrate my arrival."

* * *

Lucas laid in bed, feeling completely drained. He hadn't realized how late he'd stayed out with Haley until his watch alarm had gone off, declaring it five a.m. It was a first occurrence for them—staying out that late. She was always a stickler in high school about getting a full night's worth of sleep. Apparently that was no longer a priority.

Lucas recalled all the reminiscing they'd done the night before. While playing their private version of mini-golf on the roof, they'd talked about Lucas' youthful obsession with a certain moody blonde, Haley's tutoring days, Lucas' summers helping at Keith's Body Shop, and even Haley's years spent at Karen's Cafe.

Lucas could not think of a better return to the town that he escaped at the early age of eighteen. That was as long as he could wait—through high school—to get away.

The town was riddled with a history that Lucas rarely liked to think about anymore. How could anyone deal with such a twisted backstory in such a small town?

Lucas was the son of Karen. That was what he liked to remember. But he was also the son of Dan—the man who had abandoned him when his Mom was just eighteen for a college scholarship. It was all made worse by the fact that just a few months later Dan had impregnated another girl at college. That boy he'd claimed.

_Nathan Scott. _The name was poison on Lucas' tongue. Just thinking of him made Lucas furious. He hadn't seen him in years, but the memory of him was lodged in Lucas' mind—the memory of him making that winning shot all those years ago at the river court.

Lucas also wondered how different his life would be if he'd won, but destiny had something else in mind.

"Lucas Scott, get out of bed this instant before I have to send reinforcements after you," Karen called from the doorway to Lucas' room. "Don't think I don't mean that just because you're a big-shot adult in the workforce now."

Lucas smiled brightly at his mother. She looked _so_happy. It was a wonderful sight to behold. He'd always worried that his departure would make her despise the town she'd grown up in, but apparently that wasn't the case. If anything, she looked even more content than when he was younger.

"Got it," he replied gruffly, slowly crawling out of bed. "Can I at least shower first?"

Karen gave him an if-you-must look.

He quickly complied, walking into the bathroom and shutting the door behind him. He looked into the mirror, taking in his entire disposition. He looked tired and worn-out, which was just how he felt. But there was something hidden in his eyes—some desire for more.

He just didn't know what it was.

* * *

"So who is she?" Karen asked, taking another bite of pie.

Karen and Lucas sat at the kitchen table, eating their dinner and discussing Lucas' life. Lucas leaned back in his chair, smiling. They were already on his love life. Right on schedule.

"Come on. Spill." She took another sip of water, eyeing him expectedly.

"Her name's Lindsey," he said evasively.

"_And?_" Karen urged him on.

"And..." Lucas continued, searching for the right answers. "She's great. She's beautiful. An editor, so you know we have a ton in common. She loves the classics—_Pride & Prejudice, Wuthering Heights, Scarlet Pimpernel."_

"She's a romantic," Karen noted, approving. "Any Shakespeare?"

"Not a fan per se, though she understands the appeal. She's so sweet, Mom. You'd love her. She's considerate, passionate, hardworking..."

"Sounds a lot like someone else I know," Karen said, smiling proudly at her son.

Lucas grinned back. "She's so real. She doesn't play games with me. There's no drama or stress. It's easy with us." He conjured the image of her in his mind, realizing his picture really didn't do her justice. "I think she could be the one."

Karen's jaw nearly dropped. "The _one_?" she asked; her tone registering disbelief.

"I know. It sounds crazy. We've only been dating for a few months, but it works when I'm with her. We work together. It just makes sense. I'm getting to that age you know."

Karen looked disappointed. "Luke, you shouldn't think a girl's the one just because it makes sense. It should be head-over-heals, over-the-moon type love. Love isn't easy. I'm almost concerned that your relationship is. It's not very normal."

Lucas frowned, affronted. "Like you'd know?" he said, instantly regretting it when he saw her face.

So much for her happiness and his consideration.

"I'm sorry, Mom."

He tried to take her hand in his to apologize. She pulled it back.

"It's okay, Luke." She stared down at her food. "I haven't been in a relationship since I was in high school, so what would I know?"

"Mom, that's not what I meant. I took it too personally. I value your opinion always, you know that."

Karen smiled half-heartedly. "Sure."

"I really do." He worked to assure. "Besides, Keith seems to have been here a lot. I thought that maybe..." he trailed off, insinuating.

"Me and Keith?" Karen asked, shocked. A smile broke out on her face. "Please, Luke. We're just good friends."

"Oh, _come on,_" Luke ragged. "We _both _know that's not true."

"I thought we were talking about your relationships." Karen avoided, standing up and taking her dishes to the sink. "There's nothing worth mentioning about Keith."

"Keep telling yourself that, Mom." Luke chuckled at his Mom's discomfort.

"Enough of me. Tell me about life in New York." Karen changed the subject.

Lucas raised an eyebrow, deciding to return to the subject later. "Where to begin?"

* * *

**A/N: I know everyone's pissed at me for putting Lucas with Lindsey. I didn't like them as a couple, I promise. HOWEVER, if Lucas had never joined the team, then it would logically make sense for him to be with someone in the same profession as him. Also, in this version, Keith is still alive. In my mind, if Lucas had never joined the team, then Dan would never had been so involved in Keith's life, so he'd still be around and Karen would never have left Tree Hill. The next chapter will be from Haley's point of view and the one after that will be from either Peyton's or Nathan's. So don't worry, if you stick with this, then you'll be rewarded with the entire story from all your fav characters points of view. Stay tuned and leave reviews. ;)**


	2. Haley James

**Disclaimer: I still own nothing! **

**A/N: You might get pissed in this chapter, but please keep reading. I promise that things will get better for your fav characters. Also, in my mind Haley would never have been a musician because Nathan was a big part of that. And if you wondering if this will be Leyton or Brucas, then that's too bad because I have ideas that go in both directions. You'll just have to see which way I take it. ;) **

* * *

Chapter 2: Haley James

"Have you seen my briefcase?" Haley James called, scouring through the pile of junk that covered the floor of her room.

"Yeah, right. I still can't believe you even have a briefcase. It's not very housewife...or Punk for that matter," her fiancé called from the bed. "And can you keep your voice down? I had a late night."

"Since when is that new?" She kneeled next to the bed, checking underneath it. "Aha," she announced loudly, pulling her briefcase out. "Got it."

"I'll alert the media," he shot out, aggravated, pulling a pillow over his head.

Haley took the opportunity to surprise him. She set her briefcase down and jumped onto the bed, straddling him on both sides.

"Alert them about this," Haley started flirtatiously, taking the pillow off his face. "Good morning," she whispered, trailing kisses down the side of his face down to his neck.

"Oh, early morning booty call." He put his arms back behind his head. "Let's make it quick."

"_Chris,_" Haley whined, annoyed.

"Yeah, same my name, baby. Say it." He closed his eyes.

Haley slowly crawled off of him. "Actually, I should be getting to work." She picked up her briefcase again and started toward the door.

"Right. Like the twelve-year-olds really need you this early." Chris sneered before pulling the pillow back over his head.

"It's part of the job." Haley straightened out her blouse. "Besides, I teach high schools students, Chris. You know that."

"Slipped my mind."

Haley sighed. They'd been together for years, but Chris still seemed uninterested in anything that didn't involve himself. Well, he was an incredibly talented musician, Haley reasoned. And she was just a boring school teacher.

Maybe he had the right idea.

"I got another show tonight," Chris told her. "It's at some bar downtown. Be there at five."

"Okay," she obliged.

"And there's going to be an after-party if you're interested."

"Okay," she repeated, unsure if she would actually want to go. "I'll think about it."

"Good." He suddenly jumped out of bed. "Have to piss," he announced.

Lovely imagery, Haley thought to herself.

She walked out of the house, deciding that a goodbye was unnecessary.

* * *

Principal Turner studied Haley carefully. "Late night?" he questioned.

Haley smiled gravely up at him. "A couple of them actually."

They sat in the teacher's lounge for lunch. Haley was lazily picking through her meal.

"Do I even want to know?" He smiled knowingly, inferring something that was escaping Haley.

"Oh," Haley blurted out once she understood. Her cheeks reddened. "It's not like that. Chris has actually been playing by himself a lot lately—with his music that is."

"Sorry," Turner said easily, unembarrassed. "I just remember what it was like when my wife and I got engaged. It was quite the time."

"Well, we've been engaged for almost a year," Haley explained, debating whether that was a legitimate reason.

Was the fire really burnt out between them already?

"I suppose so."

"My best friend is actually back in town," she continued, distracting herself. "We've just been catching up."

"Lucas Scott," Turner supplied.

"You remember him?" Haley asked, noticeably surprised.

Turner laughed. "Of course I remember him, Ms. James. I was the Principal here when you all were in high school after all. Even if that fact makes me feel slightly old."

"Oh, right. I just wasn't sure if you would have known _him_. Lucas wasn't exactly involved in extracurricular activities here."

"That's true, but he has a rather famous background. I don't think there's one person in town that doesn't know who he is."

Haley grimaced. "Right. I forgot small towns are notorious for gossiping."

"If it's any consolation," Turner offered, "Lucas and Karen always come off as the heroes in the story."

Haley's expression didn't waver. "It doesn't. They're more like the victims in my mind."

Turner nodded understandingly. "Of course. Be sure to say hello to him for me, will you? He was always a good student." He got up from the table.

Haley smiled appreciatively. "Sure thing."

He returned her smile before walking out of the lounge back to his office.

Haley took out her cell phone, hitting her first speed dial number. She patiently waited as the ringing started up on the line.

"Hey, Hales," a sultry and familiar voice from the other line greeted. "What's up? How's teaching?"

"Tough, Luke," Haley started. "I don't have it quite as easy as slacker homebodies like you."

Lucas' muffled laugh came through the phone. "They say those that can, do; those that can't, teach."

"And which one exactly is your job?"

"Touché." There was silence on the phone. "Now why'd you call me?"

"I know that you're not Chris' biggest fan," Haley began reluctantly.

"Haley, you know I'll support you no matter who you choose to be with just as long as he makes you happy," Lucas cut in.

"I know, Luke," Haley said, smiling. "I was actually hoping you would say that since we have plans tonight."

"Do we now?"

"Yes. Tonight, you and I, some bar in town, watching Chris perform," Haley finished in a huff, hoping he would have no objections.

"That sounds good to me on the contingency that you buy the drinks."

Haley sighed, relieved. "You got it. See you tonight."

"Tonight," Lucas repeated in agreement.

They clicked off on their phones, ending the conversation.

Haley hugged herself. She was thrilled at the idea of another night with Lucas, and this time she got to share it with her fiancé too.

Could she be any luckier?

She got up from the table, rewrapping her lunch for later. She slowly made her way back to class, imagining just how great their night would be.

* * *

"Classy place," Lucas noted once they'd taken their seats at the bar of a local pub.

"It's definitely got character," Haley concurred, turning to the bartender. "Two beers please."

Lucas raised his eyes appraisingly at her. "Since when were you a brewski type of girl?"

She sat back comfortably in her seat. "Since I realized you fit in a lot more with a couple of them in your hands."

Lucas smiled brightly at her. "What? They're not a champagne-and-caviar-type crowd?"

"Afraid not." She smiled back.

They sat patiently, drinking their beers and continuing to catch up until Chris came on stage to perform. He dedicated his first song to all the lonely women out there tonight. Haley found less reason for conversation after that.

* * *

Once Chris had finished his set, Haley and Lucas gathered outside to wait for him next to some of the rowdy bar crowd. The group smoked their cigarettes and made lewd comments to one another. Haley and Lucas did their best to ignore them.

"So that was..." Lucas began, feeling at a loss of words.

"The worst experience ever," Haley offered, shrugging. "It wasn't the classiest venue."

Lucas patted her arm sympathetically. "I'm sure he'll be going on some amazing tour soon."

Haley nodded with an obvious lack of enthusiasm. "Yeah, and then he'll be around even more wasted floozies."

Lucas couldn't suppress a laugh. "You know, even in New York, it isn't everyday that girls will throw their bras at you. I'm sure Chris couldn't have done a thing to stop them."

Haley glared at him. "Right. He really looked like he was making an effort to avoid them."

"Come on, Hales." Luke's laughter continued. "I gave him the talk. He hurts you; I hurt him. It's a simple circle of life."

Haley's lips turned upward. "I guess that's the silver lining."

"That boy wouldn't dare mess up such a good thing."

"If you say so." Haley shivered from the cold night air.

Lucas moved toward her, wrapping his arms protectively around her. "I do say so."

She smiled gratefully up at him, thankful to have her best friend back after so much time.

"Well, _well_. Lucas Scott as I live and breathe," an unmistakable voice drawled.

Lucas pivoted his body to face the source. Chris Keller made his way over to them, guitar case and beer already in hand. His characteristic smirk pointed to the pair.

"Chris Keller," Lucas remarked, reluctantly holding out his hand. "It's been a while."

"Hell, it's been ages," Chris responded back, shaking Lucas' hand vigorously. "I'd love to hear all about New York. I haven't had a show there in months. How's the scene? Girls as hot as ever?"

Lucas glanced at Haley out of the corner of his eye. She had visibly stiffened as Chris went on.

"They're alright," Lucas understated. "I actually have a new girlfriend now."

"Really?" Chris blared, stepping back. "Finally."

"Her name's Lindsey. She's also an editor," Lucas continued, ignoring his reaction.

"Hmmm." Chris nodded, clearly uninterested. "And what did you think of Chris Keller's show?"

Haley could tell that Lucas barely contained his desire to roll his eyes. Why did Chris always have to be so irritating to him?

"It was great, man. You're always great." He grabbed Haley again. "This girl always gives you rave reviews."

Chris turned his gaze toward Haley for the first time since he'd arrived. "Baby, I didn't see you out there tonight."

"Shocking," Haley whispered under her breath.

"We were there," Lucas told him dryly.

"Of course. Of course," Chris said, attention dwindling. "So how's about we finish this conversation at the after-party? It's going to be historic."

"As tempting as that is," Lucas said, purposefully sarcastic. "I think I'm going to turn in. Trip's still killing me sleep-wise."

Chris nodded as if he had listened long enough to understand, turning to Haley. "And you?"

"Grading papers early tomorrow," she responded, leaning forward to give him a quick kiss. "I'll just see you back at home."

Chris pulled away from her toward the crowd, obviously too distracted to care enough to say goodbye.

"Don't be too late," Haley called after him after he'd been sucked into the hoard of people. "Great." She sighed.

Lucas mimicked her before remembering something. "Why'd you make up that excuse? You and I both know that you already graded those papers."

Haley looked at Lucas guiltily. "To be honest," she began, "I just don't want him to be jealous when he finds out that I'd rather spend my night with my best friend."

Lucas's suspicious died down to flattery. "I'd do the same for you." He hugged her again wordlessly. "But I meant what I said. I definitely need to catch up on some sleep."

Haley sighed again. "Terrific. Now I lose you both."

"Hardly. What's your plan for tomorrow?"

Haley smiled brightly. "I have a date with my best friend."

* * *

Lucas' eyes lit up with anticipation.

"No way," he practically screamed, grabbing the tickets out of Haley's hands. "Court seats too. How can I ever repay you for this?"

Haley grinned at him giddily. "Your return is more than enough. I've been waiting for this stupid school reunion for over a year now just because I knew it would finally get you back here."

Lucas scowled. "Right. I don't know why I RSVP'd to that event in the first place, or even you for that matter. Neither of us really cared for high school when we were in it. We don't really have anyone to go check up on. Why bother?"

"Because," Haley started, snatching the tickets back from Lucas. "It's a tradition and I'll be damned if we miss out on any more of those."

"Okay." Lucas lightened up. "If it'll make you and my mom happy, then_ I _am more than happy to humor you both."

"Thank you," Haley said cheerily. "Now that that's cleared up. Why don't we get into that slick out-of-state car of yours and head to Charlotte?"

"You got it," Lucas answered, moving toward the door.

This was surely to be a night to remember.

* * *

"Is it a mineral? Or an animal?" Haley asked excitedly, as she sat comfortably in the passenger seat as they continued on their road trip.

"This isn't _Twenty Questions_," Lucas countered. "It's _I Spy. _I don't have to answer any of those."

"Ugh," Haley mumbled. "Fine. Is it my jacket?"

"Nope."

"Is it the seats."

"Nope."

"Is it...your soul?"

"_Haley_," Lucas complained. "There are not that many things around us that are black."

"I beg to differ," Haley shot back. "You obviously have an inclination towards it. I'm not judging, Luke. To each their own favorite color."

Lucas shook his head. "Maybe we should do another car game."

"No thanks. I'm lacking the talent necessary to complete them. How about we just talk?"

"About?" Lucas fished; suspicion renewed.

"About the reunion," Haley stated firmly.

Lucas grumbled unhappily. "I'd rather stick to bad car games."

"Come on, Luke. Humor me again."

"Fine. What about it?"

"How exactly are you feeling about it all—about seeing your brother again?"

Lucas swallowed hard. "Don't call him that."

"Fine. I'll try to find a less biologically-correct term," Haley snapped.

"I'd appreciate that."

"Seriously, Luke. You're my best friend and I've known you since grade school. I know you and I know how you feel about the guy, and you can be damn sure that he'll be there next week. A Scott boy would never miss the opportunity for attention and praise. Not counting you of course."

Lucas' signature brooding scowl remained. "Right. I cower in the background while Nathan lives in the limelight." His veins began to show as he tightened his hold on the steering wheel. "That's what privilege and power can give you."

"Maybe he's not as bad as you think," Haley proposed. "Maybe it was just Dan all these years. I mean, Luke, do you really even know the guy?"

"Do _you_?" Lucas vented sharply.

"Of course not."

"Then don't tell me that _he's not as bad as _I _think_," Lucas huffed bitterly.

Haley recognized this response well.

"I know that you wanted to win that game—"

"—don't," Lucas begged. "I don't need to relive it."

"But maybe it was important that you did lose. It made you stronger, Luke. You might even be a better man because of it."

"Please. I got to be the same guy I always was. Nathan did the same thing. You just know that he's spent the last five years being the same arrogant son-of-a-bitch that he always was."

Haley clenched her fingers nervously. This was the reaction that she'd expected from him, but she'd hoped for better. She'd hoped that time had healed his old wounds. Apparently not.

"Probably," she conceded. "Maybe he's improved a little at least."

Lucas gave her his best I-doubt-it look.

"Fine. He's probably still a jerk," Haley appeased hesitantly. "You really haven't heard anything about him over the years?"

"Not a word. I've kept myself in a Tree-Hill free bubble in New York. It's been more than accommodating. Why?" His accusatory voice was back.

"Nothing. I was just curious is all." Haley quickly shifted her attention out the window, hoping that she'd give nothing away.

"Last I heard he'd taken a full scholarship to Duke and was marrying that Blond Barbie girlfriend of his," Lucas said through clenched teeth.

"_Please._" Haley rolled her eyes. "Her name's Peyton Sawyer. Don't pretend you didn't spend ten years obsessed with her and her Barbie-esque meets hardcore rocker ways."

Lucas grudgingly smiled. "She was quite the walking oxymoron, wasn't she?"

"Definitely." Haley relaxed. "Those soulful green eyes and the cheer uniform? Don't get me started."

"Quite the enigma," Lucas went on. "I wonder whatever happened to her."

Haley shifted again, uncomfortable. "She became Peyton Scott: the homemaker."

Lucas' eyes widened. "No way. Peyton's a stay-at-home mom?"

Haley nodded. "Just a wife actually. And don't you dare judge, Lucas Scott. That's what my mother was at first and she worked harder than anyone I know."

Lucas laughed uneasily. "I know Lydia, Hales. She's Godsent. I'd never bash on how amazing she is. I'm just surprised about Peyton."

"I guess that icy demeanor wasn't all that accurate."

"Guess so," Lucas agreed. "I just always thought she'd do something..._great _with her life. Being the wife to Nathan Scott hardly qualifies."

"Well, maybe she hasn't done that something great yet."

"Maybe," Lucas allowed, but quickly worked to change the subject. "Now enough talking about me."

Haley slowly turned to face him. "What do you suggest our next conversation be about?"

Lucas' smile widened. "Lucas Scott wants to know about Chris Keller."

* * *

Lucas and Haley made their way inside the building to their court side seats, navigating around the thousands of other fans that were also there to watch the _Charlotte Bobcats_ play against the _Memphis Tigers_. The crowd was mainly on their feet still, screaming at the top of their lungs in excitement.

"Is it everything you imagined?" Haley asked loudly to have her voice heard over the thunder of the audience.

"And more," Lucas admitted, taking his seat slowly. "I can't tell you how long I've wanted to do this."

"Long time?" Haley guessed.

Lucas simply nodded. Haley thought that he was too overcome in a whirlwind of emotions to fully express himself. She didn't mind. She wanted him to savor these feelings for as long as he could before a new reality hit that would ruin it all.

She glanced at Lucas again and saw that his eyes were glistening ever-so-slightly. She felt her own heart swell in happiness to see him so blissfully content like there was nothing in the world that could hurt this moment.

All of a sudden the lights went dark and a spotlight went down that directed all eyes to the middle of the court. The team's cheerleaders gathered in two lines, waving their pom poms around wildly.

Haley knew that this was the moment that her meddling would be discovered. She closed her eyes, unwilling to face any wrath that Lucas would surely want to send her way soon.

A loud booming voice came on the overhead speakers: "From Duke University, 6'2'' Shooting Guard, wearing number 23 is Nathan Scott!"

* * *

**A/N: Not sure how obvious Haley's intentions were, but I hoped you liked the ending. Thoughts on Pathan? We finally got some Nathan action, which will very soon lead to Peyton and then Brooke action. Patience. All good things to those that wait. Please review.**


	3. Nathan Scott

**Disclaimer: I unfortunately own nothing. ;( **

**A/N: Finally a chapter that isn't focused on Laley. (Not that I don't love them.) This is where the story really picks up. The first two chapters just really had to set up the backdrop for everyone's lives. Now is when everyone has their story lines begin. Also, if you're curious, the reunion will be in chapter 6 and it will most likely be in Lucas' point of view. Reviews keep this story going. ;) **

Chapter 3: Nathan Scott

"We went out there and did what we'd planned to do," Nathan told the reporter, smiling devilishly at the lens of the camera.

"Which was?" the reporter asked, setting Nathan up perfectly for his obvious next line.

"To kick some serious ass," Nathan finished smugly, daring to wink at the camera. "Just a regular night on the team."

"So we can expect more of tonight's dazzling victory next season out of the _Bobcats_?" the reported asked.

"You can expect that and a whole hell of a lot more," Nathan agreed.

"Does that mean that tonight's season high for you will be broken next year?"

"I guarantee it," Nathan answered without hesitation, crossing his arms across his chest.

"Thank you, Scott," the reporter concluded, wrapping up the interview.

"Thank you." Nathan smiled as sexily into the camera as he could before walking off the court to the locker room, where the rest of his teammates waited to praise him for his perfect game. He took it all in greedily just like he always had, and just like he always would.

"What now?" his closest teammate asked him after they were done for the night.

Nathan cocked his eyebrow knowingly, with an assuming grin laid out on his lips.

"Now," he began, biting his lip. "We party."

* * *

"Thirty-five points, eleven assists, _and _six boards," Clay bragged, while pouring two shot of expensive bourbon for the two of them. "You killed it tonight! Here is to your contract year and making my job a hell of a lot easier."

He offered the drink to Nathan, who snatched it up eagerly. They clinked glasses quickly in celebration.

"Cheers," Nathan muttered, shooting back the alcohol. "God, this is great. Almost as good as being on the road."

Clay shook his head in amusement. "What so you can spend even more time away from that hot wife of yours?"

Nathan poured himself another glass. "No. So I can spend even more time with _other _hot chicks."

"You're really something else," Clay observed, laughing. "Where the hell are we anyway?" He gazed around the room drunkenly at all the other partygoers.

Nathan copied his movements. "Who cares? Why don't you call that one girl from that Rainstorm body spray commercial that I did? She had that sexy accent. Kylie something or other. I bet she could liven up this party."

Clay coughed loudly. "And have you make some colossal mistake that even I, the puppet master, can't get you out of?"

Nathan rolled his eyes, feeling the alcohol do its job. "You make phone calls to get your ten percent. I wouldn't order me around if I were you."

"Fine. Nathan Scott. Do your damage tonight. I'll be right there beside you." Clay's eyes glanced behind Nathan. "Speaking of which..."

A beautiful sandy-blonde haired woman came up to them, wearing a revealing pink dress. "Excuse me? I don't mean to bother you, but could we get a picture?" she asked, smiling brightly at Nathan.

"Sure," Clay answered automatically, pushing Nathan toward the girl and her group of friends. "Nathan Scott, the girls. The girls, Nathan Scott," Clay introduced them all.

Nathan greeted them all, happy to be in a swarm of sexy females. Just the perks of being a professional basketball player. He wrapped his arms around the two closest girls and posed for the picture.

"Mhmm," the sandy-blonde girl cooed. "Someone smells good."

"That's the Rainstorm body spray," Nathan responded easily.

"Make it sexy," Clay advised, taking the picture. "Perfect."

He handed it back to the girl. She took it slowly, turning back to Nathan as her group dispersed around the room.

"I'm Renee," she said, with an unmistakably seductive glint in her eye.

"I'm Nathan, but you already knew that."

"Right." Renee smiled, amused. "You were amazing tonight, even if you were destroying my home team."

"You're from Memphis?"

"Born and raised. I have seasons tickets to Tiger games. I go to as many as I can."

"A hardcore basketball fan," Nathan commented, impressed. "Always fun to meet."

"Fun to do other things with too," Renee said in a suggesting tone.

Nathan smiled knowingly down at her. "Renee, you look like you could use a drink."

* * *

Nathan's first feeling when he woke up the next morning: disorientated. All of his joints ached, his world was spinning, and he felt nauseous.

All of that was made worse by the fact that he had no clue what had happened the night before and no recollection of where he currently was.

He slowly opened his eyes to reveal an unfamiliar bedroom. He turned to his side to see if he could find any clues, but the bed that he was currently laying on was devoid of any other person. He had half-hoped that Clay would be there to fill him in on the details of the night before, regardless of what that would insinuate about their friendship.

Nathan got out of the bed, heading out into the hallway and back to the last room he remembered. He saw the table that he remembered doings shots at. He also noticed a pink dress on the ground that looked vaguely familiar. He idly wondered if there was once a girl that went in that dress. Maybe she would have the answers to what happened the night before.

He began searching for the exit when he heard a loud and obnoxious beep come from his shirt pocket. He mentally cursed whoever dared cause his phone to make such a hideous noise when he had a hangover. He opened it up slowly to read a text from Clay. It read:

_Get your ass home, Scott! The wife's not happy. _  
_P.S. Wicked game last night. _

Nathan quickly tugged out his keys and found his car parked outside. He left right away, eager to get home and regain his regular function in his own space.

* * *

Nathan pulled into his six-car garage, still feeling the grave effects of the previous night's binder. He stumbled into his mansion loudly, falling onto his couch in desperate need of more rest. Just when he began to doze off again, he was awoken by a sharp banging that was inching its way closer and closer.

"What the _hell_?" Nathan shouted, grabbing a pillow to cover his ears.

Peyton came striding into the room, wearing skinny jeans and a wifebeater. In her hand was a ladle that she was repeatedly using to strike a pan.

"Oh, there you are," Peyton started, feigning relief. "I was just alerting the neighborhood that we had a missing persons on our hands."

Nathan narrowed his eyes at her. "Very funny, Peyton."

"I mean, what other reason could there possibly be for my husband staying out _all night_?" Peyton asked, throwing up her arms. "Oh, right. There is no reason. He's just an inconsiderate ass."

Nathan got up, walking purposefully past her without saying a word.

"What, Nathan? Why don't you get your brilliant excuse ready and explain to me where the hell you've been?" Peyton yelled after him.

"You know I party with the guys after games," Nathan offered unapologetically, starting a pot of coffee.

"And if you're not planning on coming home you call," Peyton reminded him, feeling exasperated. "Unless you're too wasted to remember that you're a _grown man_."

"Or too wasted to care." Nathan smiled rudely.

"Lovely," Peyton spoke snidely. "I see Dan Scott makes another appearance."

"And what is that supposed to mean?" Nathan asked, turning to face her again.

"Nothing. Just that you're an egotistical maniac that preys on the displeasure of others, including your wife of five years." Peyton glared at him. "I've been with you from when you were a Raven to a Blue Devil to a Bobcat, Nathan. You've been the same jerk through all three."

Nathan glared right back. "And you've been the same whining bitch the whole time. If you have such a problem with my life, then why don't _you _get a job and make some money for a change?"

Peyton's jaw fell open, disbelieving that he'd say something as uncalled for as that. "Go to hell!" she shouted at him, heading toward the door. "Enjoy _your _life, Nathan. Count me out," she called back, opening the door and slamming it behind her.

Very melodramatic, Nathan thought to himself.

He sat down, taking out the sport's section of the paper and leisurely sipping his cup of coffee.

* * *

"She walked out on you?" Clay asked, sitting down in Nathan's La-Z-Boy. "Isn't that like the tenth time this year?"

"Yeah," Nathan snorted. "Next month it will be doubled. She loves her theatrics. She thinks it fourplay or something."

"Kinky, I guess," Clay offered, leaning back. "Now let's discuss your schedule for next week."

"I'm going back to Tree Hill next week," Nathan stated firmly. "I have my five-year reunion from high school."

"How painfully small town," Clay pointed out. "I won't even go to my college reunions. Anyone who was worth remembering is still in my life."

"I want to see how everyone's life turned out," Nathan told him. "Who's married? Who's successful?"

"That's all in comparison to you?" Clay guessed.

"Of course. Plus it's always nice rubbing it in my dad's face that I'm an NBA star while he just crashed and burn right away in college."

"Ah, family traditions," Clay joked.

"Whatever. My mom's been bugging me to come home for awhile now anyway, so I might as well get it over with now that I'm on break."

"Oh, Deb. The sexy mother." Clay licked his lips.

Nate punched him in the shoulder. "Shut _up. _That's _my mother _you're talking about."

"Oh, I know, man. That doesn't make her any less sexy."

"Peyton's gone. There'd be no witnesses," Nathan warned him.

Clay just laughed, taking out his phone. "Next week: Tree Hill." He quickly typed into his phone. "Done. It's in the schedule. I guess I'll allow it."

"Good. Now can we please go out tonight? I'm bored out of my mind here."

Clay smiled wickedly at him. "No can do, superstar. I have Peyton's direct orders to not let you out of this house tonight."

Nate groaned. "Great. She starts a fight, walks out on me, and then makes sure that I'm as miserable as possible."

"That's true love, Nate."

"Nah, that's marriage. And it sucks major ass."

"Whatever you say." Clay put his phone away, directing himself toward Nathan. "Tell me, which girls have you slept with from the reunion? It'd be better to know now in case any of them get any ideas now that you're an NBA star."

Nathan smiled, raising an eyebrow. "And that'd be bad _because_?"

"_Because_," Clay emphasized. "It's a contract year, Nate. Your image can't handle a scandal right now."

"That's still going on? I thought you'd get me a deal by now."

"This is hardball. If we want the best price for more years, than I have to wait them out. And I will. You just sit back, stay out of trouble, and try to appease that pissed off wife of yours, okay?"

"Fine," Nathan answered gruffly. "But you better get the deal soon."

"I will." Clay's phone began ringing obnoxiously. Clay took it back out, smiling. He opened the phone. "Clay Evans." He got back up, mouthing a goodbye to Nathan before heading out the door.

Nathan made his way over to his TV, resolving to play videogames for the night if it meant that Peyton would back off.

* * *

"Have a nice night?" Peyton's calmed-down voice asked.

Nathan jolted awake at the sound of her voice. He dazedly looked around the room. He was still in his home-theatre, lying on the couch. He must have fallen asleep there while playing videogames, he reasoned.

"The best," he answered derisively.

Her lips turned up. "Good."

Nate sat upright, glancing outside to see that the sun was just coming out. "You stayed out _all _night?" he asked disbelievingly.

"Of course. Tell me that you at least noticed," she demanded angrily.

He turned away from her, unwilling to merit that with an answer.

"I just thought you should know what it's like to have a spouse that never takes you into consideration when making plans," Peyton told him bitterly. "Although, what the hell was the point of all that? You're such an ass that you didn't even notice."

Nathan rolled his eyes. "Really? We're doing this again? It hasn't even been twenty-four hours. Just put some ice on it."

Peyton glared at him. "Seriously, Nate? You're going to order me around now?"

Nathan sighed. "_No_, I just don't want to fight again, babe. I'm sorry," he said rather sincerely. "It's hard to remember sometimes that I have to be responsible enough to answer to someone now. I never answered to my parents in anything but sports, so I guess I don't really know the protocol. Plus, my parents have a horrible marriage, so you can't really blame me for being such a dick of a husband sometimes."

Peyton's formerly angry expression softened ever-so-slightly. "I get it, Nate. But that doesn't make it okay."

He nodded, moving closer to her. "I know. I have to make some changes. I swear that I will. We have that reunion coming up next week. How about I make a promise to you right now?"

Peyton eyed him curiously.

"I promise that I won't leave your side during it. I'll be a dutiful husband that you can show off to all your old friends." He put his arms around her waist.

Peyton leaned into him. "I guess that would help," she admitted, knowing that Nathan would normally ditch her at the first opportunity.

"Good. Now that that's settled," he started, eyeing the hallway that led to their bedroom.

Peyton understood immediately. "This early?"

"Why the hell not?" Nathan responded, lightly pushing her backward. "You've got better things to do?"

"Always," Peyton teased, letting him move her to their room. "I was going to go dress shopping for that reunion. I have to look good since I have a very respectable husband."

Nathan smiled, knowing he'd won this fight. "Not right now you don't."

* * *

Nathan rolled over to his nightstand to grab his phone that was continually buzzing. He answered it angrily. "I'm going to kill whoever this is," he said into the receiver.

"Is that anyway to treat the man that has to bail you out of one hell of a mess?" Clay's voice answered.

Nathan rubbed his hand on his forehead. "What are you talking about?"

"I don't want to discuss it over the phone. We need to meet."

Nathan shuffled out of bed, pulling back on his shirt. "Okay. Come on over."

"No," Clay's voice told him. "Somewhere _else._"

"Look, I'm not driving right now. I'll meet you at the docks outside."

There was a pause on the line. "Fine," Clay said finally. "Ten minutes."

"Ten minutes," Nathan agreed, wondering what the hell was such a big deal.

* * *

Nathan pulled on his Duke sweatshirt as he walked into the cold North Carolina air. He shivered involuntarily as he made his way to the dock and closer to the ocean. He could see Clay leaning against the walkway. He slowly made his way over to him.

"Clay," he greeted. "Why the hell did you need to talk to me so secretly?" He smiled, unaware that his life was about to change forever.

"It's bad, Nate," Clay started, taking a deep breath. "You remember when I said that a scandal would ruin you?"

Nathan nodded, finally understanding that _something _had happened.

"That was all hypothetical, but it seems that we're now dealing with the real thing."

Nathan stepped closer. "What are you talking about?"

Clay took out his phone, navigating through it in search of something before handing it to Nathan. Nate took it instantly, staring at the bright screen. He was looking at a photo of a young and undeniably attractive woman. She had sandy-blonde hair that was eerily familiar to Nathan, but he just couldn't place her.

"Who is she?" he asked curiously.

Clay eyed Nathan suspiciously. "You don't remember her?"

"Nope. And I'm a little tired of this run around. Can you please just tell me what's up?"

Clay took his phone back. "Her name's Renee Richardson and...she's saying that she slept with you a few nights back. "

Nathan stepped backward, disbelieving. "I didn't. I couldn't have," he stuttered out. "I don't even remember her."

Clay gazed over at Nate, pitying his current state. "It gets even worse. She said that you weren't _protected _that night, so...there's the possibility that she could wind up pregnant."

Nathan began to visibly shake, knowing that his entire career, marriage, and life could be ruined because of one night's mistake that he didn't even remember.

"What do we do?" he asked in a frantic voice.

"We do what we always do," Clay told him assuredly. "We fix this."

* * *

**A/N: Dun, dun, dun. Nathan Scott is in **_**trouble. **_**How do you think that Peyton will deal with this new scandal? She's the star of Chapter 4, FYI . I obviously stole the girl (Renee) from the show, but it isn't necessarily a lie this time. ;) Also, if you're wondering why Clay isn't super sweet in this like in the show, it's because I think that Quinn and Nathan had a big impact on helping him find himself again, but Quinn isn't around and Nathan isn't the right version of himself. Also, Naley fans: have patience. Chapter 6 is when everyone will be thrown in the same room together for the reunion. You just know that that will start some fireworks. Until next time, please review. :)**


	4. Peyton Scott

**Disclaimer: I own nothing and I never will! ;) **

**A/N: Peyton makes her chapter debut. Woohoo! Anyway, this takes place about a week after Nathan received news about the scandal. So this entire chapter is going to show the after effects now that it's been taken public and Peyton's personal struggles. I hope for more reviews! They keep me writing and I'd like to know what you guys want to see, such as if I have more fans of Leyton or Brucas reading this? I'm here to please. ;) **

* * *

Chapter 4: Peyton Scott

Peyton Sawyer Scott sat down at the bar of the hotel, feeling more aggravated than ever before. She threw down her purse on the counter in front of her to expel her frustration.

"Rum and coke," she muttered to the bartender, digging through her purse for her I.D.

She threw it down roughly on the bar, crossing her arms in front of her as she impatiently waited for the bartender to inspect it. He picked it up, comparing it with her actual form before handing it back.

"You got it," he told her, smiling in that typical bartender manner.

Peyton fixed her eyes on him, cool and unfriendly. That was her only attitude lately.

"Long day?" he guessed.

Peyton glared at him, unwilling to keep up any small talk after the week she'd had. The bartender took the hint, resolving to finish her drink without any more attempts at conversation. He quickly mixed it, handing it over to her. Peyton took it instantly, downing the whole glass at once.

She closed her eyes, willing her headache to go away. It had been another unbelievably draining day for her.

Peyton felt empty and exhausted. She knew she wouldn't be able to handle another phone call from the press and paparazzi asking about the scandal—asking about her husband's alleged affair.

What the hell was she supposed to say anyway?

That her husband—the NBA star—had cheated on her after half a decade of marriage? Was she supposed to say that she was heartbroken and grieving over it? Was she supposed to break down and play the betrayed wife act and win over the public?

Peyton didn't feel like doing any of that anymore. She wasn't heartbroken at all when she thought over it. She was just really, _really _pissed off.

She wasn't simply bitter; she was enraged. She wanted to get revenge against Nathan in some way. She wanted to embarrass him just as much as he'd embarrassed her.

She'd always known that Nathan was a player. He was so full of himself and craved attention from anyone, especially any women. But she'd thought that he'd grow up eventually and respect the sanctity of their marriage.

Well, apparently not. He didn't respect anything, least of all her.

Peyton heard whispers around her—the distinct sign that the other customers were gossiping. And there was only one exciting scandal going on right now that she knew about.

She opened her eyes determinedly, turning to a pair of women that were sitting at the other end the bar. They were blatantly staring at Peyton, whispering excitedly to one another. Peyton glowered at them both, gritting her teeth.

"You have a problem?" Peyton asked them loudly, inviting the attention of everyone else in the hotel bar.

They stared back, too dumbfounded at her hostile response.

"What the hell is so entertaining, huh?" Peyton yelled at them, standing up. "My life is _over_, and now I get to be your night's entertainment. How the hell is that fair?"

The women just continued to stare like they were deer caught in headlights. There were no words they could use to defend themselves against Peyton's fury.

"Whatever. I don't care what you think," Peyton screamed, heading toward the door and back to her room.

* * *

Peyton sat on the edge of the bed, sketching in a notebook. She'd already drawn multiple pictures that depicted Nate and his mistress, Renee—the whore—Richardson. It helped her vent to draw them as ugly and hideously deformed as possible.

A knock came at her door. She ripped out the page from her notebook and crumpled it up, throwing it in the garbage as she slowly made her way to the door. She looked through the peephole to find Clay Evans standing in the hallway, biting his lip nervously. She opened the door, letting it crash into the wall at full force.

"What the hell do you want?" Peyton demanded.

"We need to talk," Clay answered simply, moving past her into the room.

"I sure as hell don't want to talk to you." Peyton shut the door behind him. "This is _all_ your fault."

"What is that supposed to mean?" Clay narrowed his eyes.

Peyton put her hands on her hips. "You always wanted a wingman to party with. You've always been a playboy, Clay. I knew that when Nate hired you, but I thought that you'd respect the fact that he was married. I thought that you'd keep him from sleeping around."

"I'm sorry, Peyton," Clay said earnestly. "I fucked up. I'm trying to fix that."

"You're _trying_?" Peyton asked disbelievingly. "I get calls every ten minutes. You're really good at damage control, aren't you?"

"That's not fair. I've been trying, Peyton. This _can _be fixed, I promise. I just need your help."

"My _help_?" Peyton demanded, stunned. "Why would I want to help Nathan after all he's done to me?"

"Well, have you really been enjoying yourself this past week holed up in a hotel? You call a divorce lawyer yet?"

"No," she answered both questions, with red gathering in her cheeks as she became more exasperated at the situation.

"Of course. This hotel, as nice as it is, isn't a home. And you don't want to accept that your marriage is over, so you haven't called a lawyer yet."

"I haven't called a lawyer yet because I'm waiting for my friend to tell me who she used for her divorce," she informed him. "She got everything, but I really don't need to explain my reasoning to you."

"No, you don't. You're right about everything in fact. Nathan made a mistake. A big one. And I didn't do anything to stop it. I failed him and I failed you, but I want to make it up to both of you. We're looking into Renee's story still. Until we figure everything out I need you to stay by Nathan's side. It's important that you appear as a solid front right now."

"I'm not going back to him ever. Period. End of story. He'd be lucky if I don't take him to court for all he's worth." Peyton sat back down on her bed, readying to refuse any of Clay's other suggestions.

"That's not you, Peyton. You've got too much heart for that," Clay pointed out. "Nate's life is spiraling out of control right now. I'm trying to save his image and get a new contract for him. I can't do that without you; the media is ripping him apart."

"I don't care," Peyton mumbled desperately, wishing that she actually didn't.

"It's up to you," Clay admitted. "I won't try to force you into anything, but I hope you make the right choice. It'll be better for all of us."

Peyton looked down, thinking over everything he'd said. She glanced back up to find him walking out the door. He was gone, but he'd left her with an important decision to make.

Was she willing to forgive Nathan long enough to save his career? Or was this the perfect opportunity for revenge?

* * *

Nathan's eyes widened in shock when he saw Peyton on his doorstep, holding her luggage in both hands. He was instantly reminded of the moment when she'd first left him a week before:

_"I'm sorry," Nathan gripped, as he tried to grab Peyton's shoulders and force her to face him. _

_He'd just told her the news about Renee, and she was taking it about as well as anyone could expect. _

"_I didn't mean for it to happen," he continued. "I was drunk. I don't even remember her. She didn't mean anything."_

_Peyton pulled away from him, moving her neutral face upward. There was no hint as to what she was feeling. _

_"She didn't mean anything to you?" She sat down weakly at the kitchen table. "Did I mean anything to you?"_

_"Of course you did," Nathan rattled off. "You still matter to me," he corrected. _

_Peyton felt the sting of tears fill her eyes, finally slipping up. "We're supposed to be a team. God, Nate. We're married here." _

_"I know." Nathan rubbed his forehead desperately. "I made a mistake. I don't know what else to do other than apologize." _

_Peyton swallowed loudly, refusing to look directly at him. "Well, I don't know if that's enough." _

_Nate gently enclosed her hand in his. "I can promise you that I won't do it again." _

_"That's not enough," Peyton repeated, tearing her hand out of his. _

_She stood up and walked across the room, facing the wall that held their wedding photo. The couple in it looked generic in her opinion. They looked attractive, but only in a superficial sense. Their happiness was only momentary then and it had only gotten worse and worse since._

_Nathan and Peyton Scott. They were high school sweethearts that had survived through college and a well-documented NBA career, but she still didn't know if they could survive a scandal like this._

_"Peyton," Nathan spoke softly. "I need you to forgive me." _

_"Well, I can't do that right now," she told him shakily. "And I can't be here right now. I can't be around you." _

_Peyton wiped her eyes on the sleeve of her jacket. Nathan stood right behind her, lightly placing his hand on her waist._

_"Baby," he began slowly, placating. "I won't get through this without you." _

_Peyton turned, roughly throwing his arm off of her. "You should've thought of that before you slept with that bitch." She gave him one last cold glower before storming out of the room to pack up her whole life. _

_Nathan slugged pathetically down onto a chair, waiting for her final walk out. Peyton came out of their bedroom almost ten minutes later carrying two large suitcases. He watched with a carefully reserved detachedness as his wife left him for what very well could be the last time. _

* * *

"What are you doing here?" Nathan asked, puzzled at her impromptu return to his doorstep.

Peyton exhaled loudly. "Before we get into all of that," she told him rather formally. "There's something I have to do."

"What—" Nathan began, but was cut off by the reverberating of Peyton's slap across his face. "Ow," he shouted, grasping the cheek that had been struck. "What the hell?"

Peyton smiled cruelly. "Sting?"

He nodded, narrowing his eyes.

"Good." She handed her bags to him, stalking past him into the house.

She stopped in the foyer, turning in circles to take in the now cluttered house. There wasn't any visible space on the floor or the counters. There were empty pizza boxes and discarded Chinese cartons spread all around. Nathan's clothes were crumpled in various piles. The place was a pigsty, and it wasn't hard to imagine why.

"I like what you've done with the place," she told him bitingly. "It really adds to your professional persona."

He crossed his arms indignantly. "What do you want, Peyton? I'm guessing you're not just here to bust my balls."

"As appealing as that sounds." Peyton sighed wearily. "I'm actually here to offer you a proposition."

"What about?"

"Here's the deal," she began. "Clay told me your career is over for all intents and purposes. _Unless _you can convince the public of your innocence, which essentially means that you need me."

Nathan's arms tensed up automatically. "When did you talk to Clay?"

Peyton groaned. "That's not important. He told me that if you have any chance of getting through this whole mess, then you need me by your side."

Nathan shrugged, feigning indifference.

"You can deny it all you want," Peyton continued. "But you sure as hell need me if you don't want the media to eat you alive, and I'm offering you a chance at redemption here. I suggest that you take it."

Nathan set his shoulders. "In exchange for what?"

Peyton took a deep breath. "Nothing," she supplied at last.

"Excuse me?" Nathan demanded.

"I don't want a single thing from you, Nathan Scott," Peyton confessed easily. "When all of this is over I just want a divorce. I want it to be quick and painless, and after it's done I don't want to hear from you ever again."

Nathan took a step backward. "You can't really expect me to believe that you don't want any of my money."

"Nate, I don't want a dime," she answered him, unwavering. "I just want the prospect of never having to deal with you again."

Nathan considered her offer, weighing his options more carefully than he ever had.

Was it worth losing Peyton to save his basketball career?

"Welcome home," he said at last, ultimately deciding that is was.

* * *

"I never really thought this place needed a woman's touch," Clay announced amusedly. "But it seems we were lost without you, Peyt."

Peyton eyed him, feeling particularly unfriendly toward everyone that morning. "I'm sure." She turned to her husband. "How many whores have you had up here since our split, Nate?"

Nathan smiled uncaringly. "As many as my millions can buy."

Peyton threw her glass of orange juice on him.

"You asked," he informed her, wiping his face with a napkin.

"Enough bickering, you two," Clay cut in, leaning forward across the table. "I've got papers here that can't afford any liquid damage."

They were all seated sparsely around the kitchen table of the Scott's house.

"Tell him where he can shove it then," Peyton told Clay.

Clay nodded, turning toward Nathan. "Hotshot, cool it down a bit, will you? We've got business to take care of."

Nathan leaned backward, putting his legs up on the table. "Whatever you say, boss. I didn't want to do this during my breakfast anyway."

"You could have at least offered some to the rest of us," Peyton told him.

Nathan purposefully picked up a piece of bacon and shoved it into his mouth. "More for me."

Clay rolled his eyes. "Okay, lovebirds. The plan is for you to make your first public appearance tonight at the press conference, where you'll be making a statement about the affair. We'll go over the specifics in a bit. And then tomorrow you'll be back in Tree Hill for the reunion, where you'll continue the front of being together."

"And if someone asks me how I'm doing because of this cheating bastard?" Peyton elbowed Nathan roughly.

"You smile and say that you're working through it," Clay reminded her.

"You really think that our friends from Tree Hill will believe that?" Nathan asked cynically.

"It's not like any of them really know you," Clay provided. "Besides it's just a show. You both have worked the camera before. I doubt you'll have any trouble this time."

Nathan scooped up a forkful of eggs and ate it hungrily. "No guarantee," he muttered through his teeth.

Peyton resisted the urge to hit him again. She was distracted by the ringing of the doorbell that sounded all around them, indicating that they had a visitor.

Clay stood up purposefully, preparing to stall off whatever paparazzi had wandered over there before the press conference for an exclusive sneak preview.

Peyton copied Clay's movements, holding up her hand to stop him. "I'll get it."

"So you can say something snarky and inappropriate?" Clay deterred. "I think not."

"You want the world to know that I'm back with Nathan?" Peyton challenged. "I'm just working the cameras."

Clay smiled unwittingly. "Kill it, Blondie."

Peyton proceeded toward the door, swinging it open wildly. "Can I help you?" she asked before noticing the identity of her visitor.

"I should hope so, P. Sawyer," the woman announced eagerly, holding up a bottle of expensive champagne. "But really, I'm the one who should be helping you."

Peyton smiled without thinking about it. "I've missed you, B. Davis."

* * *

**A/N: Aha, so there it is**—**the inevitable introduction of Brooke Davis. :) I have so many plans for everyone now. Please review with your thoughts on how it's going so far. Brucas or Leyton? It's the only way for me to know if people want to continue to read this. Thanks.**


	5. Brooke Davis

**Disclaimer: Never will be mine, but we can all pretend. **

**A/N: WOW! Thanks to everyone who reviewed the last chapter! It really helps me to know what the readers want to see. As for the future couples, it seems that everyone's still pretty split. I love that some even suggested new couples like Jake/Brooke, Clay/Peyton, and Clay/Brooke. Please continue to tell me what you want to see! Also, I have a POLL on my page with all the possible couples on there, so vote for your favorite couples and also tell me in a review! **

* * *

Brooke Davis slid across the white leather of her rented stretch limo to snatch the champagne out of the ice bucket. She giggled noisily, appreciating the fact that she always traveled in style, even if it were simply to return to her home state of North Carolina.

"How far are we?" Brooke asked in her signature raspy voice, reeling from the buzz she'd acquired from three earlier drinks.

The limo's partition slowly lowered to reveal a well-dressed older man as her driver.

"Just a few more moments, ma'am," the chauffeur answered cordially.

Brooke sighed in annoyance at his choice of title for her.

"It's miss actually," she corrected. "I consider ma'am to have negative connotations about a woman's entrance into marriage or old age." She wrinkled her nose. "I'm single and at the prime of my life."

The driver eyed her curiously in the rearview mirror. She shrugged her shoulders innocently.

"My apologies, _Miss _Davis," he adhered, smiling respectfully.

"Thank you." Brooke smiled brightly back at him, friendly as always. "You can just call me Brooke though. Brooke Davis."

"I know who you are, Miss Davis," the chauffeur admitted plainly. "It isn't everyday we have a celebrity in our midst."

Brooke sighed again, gazing out the tinted windows at the traffic. The last thing she wanted was to be considered a celebrity, especially there.

"Well, if I have my way today, then you'll have two celebrities in here by nightfall," she told him, clutching the bottle of alcohol even tighter in her hands.

"Wonderful," he spoke with vivid excitement, pulling the car to a stop. "We've arrived," he announced in a more professional tone.

He got out of the car, returning to the back to open the door for Brooke. He offered his hand as she stepped onto the paved driveway.

"Thanks, Jeeves," she told him graciously, smoothing down the lines on her tight black mini-dress. "Take a break for now. I'll call you when I need you."

"You got it." He carefully shut the door behind her, reentered his driver side, and pulled the car back to the main street.

Brooke waved enthusiastically until he was gone before starting toward the mansion's door.

She walked steadily, hearing the faint click-clack of her heels as she made her way. Once she arrived at the doorstep she jabbed the doorbell impatiently, eager to see her best friend.

A minute later the door swung open with a racket, causing Brooke to flinch involuntarily.

"Can I help you?" the irritated-to-no-end voice of her best friend demanded.

Brooke grinned at its familiarity.

"I should hope so, P. Sawyer." Brooke held up the champagne for her to see. "But really I'm the one who should be helping you."

Peyton's features softened as they registered the new guest. "I've missed you, B. Davis," she spoke in a genuinely happy tone, pulling Brooke in for a hug.

When she pulled away, Brooke studied her friend with a critical eye.

Peyton looked thin, and not that ideal slim and sexy thin that Brooke was rocking. She looked frail and unhealthy; like there was something incredibly wearing that she was dealing with.

It'd been a long time since she'd seen her best friend, but Brooke knew she'd looked a lot fuller not too long ago.

"How are ya, goldilocks?" Brooke asked teasingly, working to maintain a light conversation before they hit the heavy stuff.

Peyton's smile buckled. "I'm fine."

Brooke didn't buy that for a minute.

"I mean, things have been better," Peyton relented once she'd noticed Brooke's concerned face. "But I can't complain."

Brooke scowled at her friend's indifference. "You mean you _won't _complain," Brooke supplied, eyes glaring. "And that's why I'm here."

Brooke pointedly stepped past her friend and marched right into the house on a mission.

"Brooke?" Peyton called after her, falling behind.

Brooke didn't slow down as she checked room after room. She finally found what she was looking for.

"Nathan Royal Scott!" Brooke's fiercest voice rang out when she spotted her friend's husband sitting at the breakfast table.

She only ever used that voice when she meant serious business.

"Brooke," Nathan recognized, standing up and holding his hands up in peace.

Brooke ignored the gesture, trampling into him with purpose. She hit him only once but it was _hard_.

Nathan crumpled over slightly from the impact.

"God, Brooke!" Nathan wailed, pushing her off. "What the hell?"

Brooke smirked angrily up at him. "I'm doing you a service," Brooke explained unabashedly. "Once Peyton realizes what an ass you are, then she'll be the one doing the hitting."

"Brooke, it's fine," Peyton's wispy voice filled the room. "He's not worth it."

Brooke didn't turn her attention away from Nathan. Her eyes were cold and furious and they were directed at him unforgivingly.

"Yeah, Brooke," Nathan mimicked, squinting his eyes at her. "It's _fine_. Peyton already slapped me today."

Brooke turned back to her friend for confirmation. Peyton shrugged guiltily and her cheeks inflamed like Brooke knowing about the incident embarrassed her.

Brooke's lips turned upward in a smile. "P. Sawyer," she spoke fondly, wrapping her arms around her favorite person. "Since when were you the physical type?"

Peyton smiled at her response. "I guess I lied about the whole not complaining thing."

Brooke eyed her proudly. "Good. The cheating bastard deserves worse."

Nathan flinched at her words.

"Brooke Davis?" an excited masculine voice interrupted. "Long time no see, Gorgeous."

Brooke turned to the newcomer. "Clay Evans," she greeted, smiling faux-nicely. "Never a pleasure."

The attractive dirty-blond sports agent chuckled at her. "That's not what you said last time." He winked pointedly at her.

Brooke pretended she hadn't heard him or noticed the gesture. "So, P. Sawyer, what are your plans for tonight?"

"Well..." Peyton began, turning to Clay to fill in the blanks.

"She's working on her public image," Clay provided. "Something you should probably be a little more focused on too, _B. Davis_," he mocked.

"Err," Brooke barked like she was a buzzer, never taking her eyes off of Peyton. "Wrong answer, Peyt. You have a date with _me, _and it starts now."

Peyton bit her lip, considering for only a moment. "Let's go."

Brooke smiled, linking her arm through her friends. They began walking toward the exit.

"Game's over, boys. Don't wait up," Brooke called over her shoulder.

"My door's always open, Brookie," Clay called back. "I'd love to play some more."

Brooke stopped, turning to face both Nathan and Clay.

"Good to know." Her eyes turned icy again. "But by the time I'm done with the two of you, you'll be lucky to even have each other to play with."

Brooke roughly tossed the glass bottle of champagne to Nathan. "Chill that for us, will you? As soon as your divorce goes through we'll have a lot to celebrate."

She wrapped her arm around Peyton again, and they continued on their way.

* * *

Brooke posed in front of the full-body mirror, taking in her reflection. The lingerie she was trying on was silky and black, covering all the necessary places but see-through enough to be a total turn on for any guy.

"Is that for Clay?" Peyton asked wryly, slumping down into a chair in the fitting room. She threw down the five shopping bags that she'd been hauling around for Brooke.

Brooke snarled like a cat, clawing in front of her. "What's wrong, Peyton Marie Sawyer?"

Peyton scowled at her nickname. "I know that you think that retail therapy is the cure for anything, but I'm really not in the mood to blow all my money right now."

Brooke smiled knowingly, digging through her Prada purse. She held up something small for Peyton to see.

"A credit card?" Peyton inquired irritatedly. "I have one of my own too, Brooke. Not that impressive."

Brooke rolled her eyes at Peyton's dramatics. "It's not mine, skinny girl."

Peyton raised an eyebrow.

Brooke smiled evilly. "I may or may not have swiped it from your husband's wallet earlier."

Peyton grinned widely. She stood up to inspect it, and sure enough, there was Nathan's name printed on the shiny Amex. "How'd you do it?"

Brooke threw it back in her purse. "A master never reveals her tricks."

Peyton snorted. "You say that now."

"So what do you want to buy, Mrs. Scott?" Brooke demanded. "Dinner? A new wardrobe? I spotted a car dealership on the way in."

Peyton shook her head, still smiling. "You always know how to cheer me up."

Brooke shrugged. "Well, somebody's got to. We can't have you become permanently stuck in that doom and gloom lifestyle you love so much."

Peyton stuck out her chin. "Funny."

Brooke curtsied. "I'm here to please."

"Well, Clay was definitely still _pleased _to see you," Peyton needled.

"Clay's_ always _pleased to see me," Brooke challenged. "But it's not going to happen. I don't know why he still has to be such an ass all the time."

"It's called sexual tension," Peyton explained. "And I'm fairly certain that you initiated it in the first place."

Brooke turned her gaze back into the mirror. "I don't know what you're talking about," she dodged.

"Really?" Peyton questioned, smirking. "I'd believe that if you didn't sleep with him every time you're back in town."

"I do not," Brooke argued, thinking through her visits. "There was at least one time when..." She stopped when she came up with nothing, glaring at Peyton. "Well, so what? There's nothing wrong with having a perfectly healthy sex life."

"But Clay, Brooke? He's an ass _and _a manwhore."

"Sounds like someone else we know." Brooke spun back.

Peyton's face fell.

Brooke noticed instantly. "I'm sorry." She hugged her friend. "I haven't really asked you how you are with everything now that the shit hit the fan in your marriage."

Peyton worked to sound indifferent. "You _tried_. I just haven't really been in the mood to talk about it."

"It'd be good, you know," Brooke told her. "To let everything out. Slapping Nate's a good start, but I want more from the infamous Peyton Sawyer."

Peyton wiped her eyes. "How'd you get through it, Brooke?"

Brooke's eyes widened, not understanding.

"Your divorce," Peyton clarified.

Brooke swallowed slowly, flipping back to stare at her herself in the mirror and scrutinize every flaw. "Mine was different, Peyt. You and Nate have been together practically since you were in diapers. I'd only know Claude for six months before we got married."

"I know," Peyton agreed. "But it ended the same way."

Brooke gritted her teeth. "You mean because both our husbands couldn't keep their fucking pants on for more than ten seconds?"

Peyton nodded sullenly.

Brooke worked to relax. "It's easy. I took all his money, hooked up with a bevy of attractive boys, and went for a spa weekend." She shrugged her shoulders again like it should be obvious.

But Peyton noticed an underlying sadness hidden in Brooke's features.

"It can't be that easy, Brooke," Peyton contended. "You don't make promises of forever and then just forget about each other."

"You have to," Brooke said softly. "You may not be able to pretend they didn't matter to you, but it's worse to mourn. As time goes on it just gets easier and easier to act like they didn't hurt you—like their cheating didn't affect you."

Peyton eyed her friend sadly. "God. Why are guys such jerks?"

"Because we let them be," Brooke offered, changing back into her own clothes. "And they're idiots that only think with their di—"

"Brooke," Peyton chastised, eyeing the other customers who were also trying on clothes.

Brooke smiled uncaringly. "Food court?" She held up her purse. "Nathan's treat."

Peyton nodded, following her friend's lead.

* * *

"Claude Durand," Peyton spoke piercingly. "Geez, even his name sounds pretentious."

Brooke laughed, sipping more of her mango smoothie. "But Brooke Davis Durand is a damn good name."

"Peyton Sawyer Scott," Peyton added. "That name doesn't exactly suck either."

"No, it's great," Brooke agreed. "Which _does _suck because it'd be easier if there weren't anything good about our exes."

"Speak for yourself. Nate is definitely good-for-nothing." Peyton eyed the table self-pityingly. "And I'm still married to him, so he's not exactly an ex."

"Such a shame." Brooke shook her head disappointedly. "We're two of North Carolina's finest _nearly_ single ladies. Guys should be crawling at our feet for a chance with us."

Peyton looked back up after a bright flash burned into her eyes. She turned around to find the source; two teenaged girls were snapping pictures of them, not even bothering to be stealth.

"Not if we're targeted like this," Peyton said bitterly, turning her face downward again.

"We sure do know how to pick them, huh?" Brooke's voice was amused. "The NBA star and the shipping heir."

"I still can't believe how often you were in the tabloids after you filed for divorce," Peyton mused. "Even more than I've been."

"I believe it," Brooke said. "The Durands are practically royalty in France. His dad's one of the richest men in the country. Claude partied with A-list actors and models." Her eyes narrowed. "Hooked up with them too."

"Wow. We really need to find guys that are more under the radar." Peyton jerked her head when another flash went off. "They have to actually be sweet, and caring, and..."

"Predictable?" Brooke offered.

Peyton pursed her lips. "Please. Brooke Davis wouldn't do predictable if she had a gun pointed to her head."

Brooke drank even more, slurping from her straw. "Maybe I've changed."

"Maybe," Peyton allowed. "But I hope not. You're my main source of entertainment in an otherwise shitty world."

"And proud to be." Brooke took a half-bow.

The annoying girls continued snapping pictures of them. Brooke finally snapped; she turned and flipped off the camera.

"Get lost, bitches," she told them in a warning tone.

The girls looked nervously between each other and then scattered.

Peyton covered her hand in front over her mouth as she laughed. "I sure have missed you."

Brooke flashed her million-dollar smile. "I expected as much."

* * *

Brooke and Peyton were snuggled together on a bed in one of the many guestrooms in the Scott house. They'd spent the night before catching up, watching bad movies, and drinking the entire house's alcoholic contents before passing out.

Brooke awoke to a sharp banging in her head—a hangover from hell. She glanced at her phone for the current time. It was a little past six in the morning.

She slowly dragged herself out of bed, working to keep Peyton untouched to give her a better chance of sleeping in. It was the least Brooke could do after the unpleasant recent weeks Peyton had surely had.

Brooke couldn't help but think it must've been a total repeat of what she'd gone through after she'd found Claude in bed with another woman. It'd been a rude awakening for Brooke at the time, but it'd also sent her into deep depression that she wouldn't wish on her worst enemy, least of all her best friend.

She hadn't told Peyton, but the real secret to surviving her divorce involved getting drunk and staying drunk. It was the only real way to stay numb and not broken.

Brooke tiptoed out of the room and wandered into the Scott's kitchen in search of a bottle of Evian water and the medicine cabinet.

She hadn't expected to find a certain sexy sports agent already there. He was sitting at the kitchen counter, typing into his laptop. His chest was bare since he was only sporting boxers.

Brooke couldn't help but appreciate the sight.

His smile touched his eyes when he spotted her.

"Penelope," he greeted, using her middle name. "Early morning booty call?" He slammed the lid of his laptop down. "I'm down for that."

Brooke rolled her eyes, opening the fridge. "Sorry to disappoint. That's about the last thing I'd want to do first thing today."

Clay held his hand over his heart. "Ah. You wound me, Brooke Davis. And here I thought you were developing a soft spot for me."

Brooke snatched the water out, spinning around to face him. "I don't get you, Clay." She walked closer to him until only the counter separated them. "I mean, it's obvious you care about Nate and Peyton a lot. They're like your only family—the Three Musketeers. I can tell you're super pissed at him for wrecking that, even if you're trying to play it cool. I'm just wondering why you keep up the whole assy attitude."

Clay shifted uncomfortably. "Since when did Brooke Davis start analyzing others and get all philosophical?"

Brooke smiled, pursing her lips. "Since when did cocky Clay so blatantly avoiding answering me?"

Clay jumped down from the counter and came around to face her. "Since he had other, _better _things on his mind." He eyed her body, kinking his eyebrow suggestively.

Brooke slowly sipped from her water. It'd never been that difficult to turn her on, but she'd meant what she'd told Peyton: she'd changed. Or at least, she really wanted to.

This thing with Clay wasn't exactly a change of pace for her.

She was about to snidely tell him he was self-handing it that morning when she spotted the Scott's wedding portrait one room over. It wasn't seeing that that made her want to return to her old ways; it was the photo next to it.

In the picture, Brooke had been the bride and Claude had been the groom. Peyton had insisted on hanging up their wedding photo next to her and Nate's.

Brooke studied the picture. She hated the look of utter content on her face, and she also hated the way Claude's hands wrapped around her like he actually gave a damn.

She hazily resolved to her old ways, ignoring her conscious ticking in the background of her mind.

She wrapped her arms around Clay's neck. "Your room or mine?"

* * *

"Car's here!" Peyton's voice called loudly to get everyone's attention.

She handed her bag to the driver, lazily wondering where everyone had gone off to. After waking up to a killer headache, Peyton had realized that Brooke's typical body heat next to her had vanished.

She had yet to find the gorgeous brunette that morning.

"Good. We're stopping for Playboys then," Nathan's voice entered the entryway.

He stalked past her, wearing jeans and and an old Ravens t-shirt. He threw his duffle bag at the driver and continued to the car without so much as a look in her direction.

Brooke finally came running into the room. Her hair was a tangled mess; her eyes were shining guiltily.

Clay came bounding into the room behind her.

"Not going to happen, huh?" Peyton questioned, eyeing Brooke.

Brooke groaned. "Let's just go, okay?"

"You got it." Peyton pulled her friend toward the door, smiling back at Clay. "Laters, Clay. Lock up my crib when you leave."

Clay stood with his hands in his pocket, staring after her suspiciously.

Peyton and Brooke exited the house, shutting the door loudly behind them.

"Okay. What's up, girly?" Brooke demanded. "You go from down-in-the-dumps to little-miss-sunshine."

Peyton smiled, a faint hint of mischief in her eyes. "I'm just excited for the reunion is all."

They walked toward the car in step with each other.

Brooke squinted her eyes at Peyton. "Yeah, right. You hated high school and nearly everyone in it."

Peyton shrugged. "I just thought it was time to lighten up. No more PMS."

"I'd say it's about time, but I still don't buy it."

Peyton gazed at Nathan, who was lying on the top of the car. "Let's just say I've stopped wanting to be mad and sad about what happened."

"What are you saying?" Brooke inquired.

Peyton thought over her name, fixating over the _Scott _part of it. "It's time to get even."

* * *

**A/N: Poor Brooke Davis! She's my favorite character, so it kills me to write about anyone hurting her. I don't know what you all think would've happened had Lucas and Haley never entered her life, but I think she would've slept around for awhile before marrying a charming, handsome, well-traveled foreigner. He just turned out to be an ass. And I think she'd drown her sorrows in boys and booze. Anyway, let me know your thoughts about this chapter and what you think Peyton's up to. Chapter 6 is next, and you know what that means? Reunion time! REVIEW and VOTE on my profile page! **


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